


All the shades of miracles

by my_inked_asterism



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, POV Jon Snow, Pregnancy, Sort Of, Targaryen Restoration, healthepain.mp3, not the usual pregnancy fic? I think?, oh so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_inked_asterism/pseuds/my_inked_asterism
Summary: Jon Snow throughout all the stages of Daenerys's pregnancy.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 88
Kudos: 345





	All the shades of miracles

**Author's Note:**

> So. Let me explain. 
> 
> I read tons of jonerys fics, I ADORE pregnancy fics, yet none of those I've read with this trope have been written under Jon's POV, which in my opinion is so interesting to get into. So... well, I did.  
> I really wanted to explore Jon's psychology and character during this (SO BEAUTIFUL AND POTENTIAL) stage of life, and hopefully give a better resolution of what we could've had. We were robbed of so damn much guys... I want to cry in Drogon. 
> 
> Also, special thanks to my wonderful friends, Fer and Sabrina for supporting me in my writing and reading/beta-ing my mess so amazingly.  
> (No seriously guys, this fic would be garbage without Sabrina's magical editing. My favorite nazi-grammar IN THE WORLD.)
> 
> And thank YOU reader for choosing to open this fic and give it a try. I really hope it'll be worthy of your time! 
> 
> Love,  
> Giulia xx

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/49182490677/in/dateposted-public/)

**ALL THE SHADES OF MIRACLES**

  
  


There hasn’t been a night this quiet in such a long time. Jon’s glad the shouts of death and war have now turned into those of celebration, nearly a month after they defeated Cersei. He also knows a city doesn’t fix itself up – the fight between the two biggest armies in the country certainly leaves plenty of work to do in the aftermath. 

However, in the streets beneath the Red Keep – or what is left of it, at least – the cries of the people, either of joy or grief, have lately filled Jon’s ears incessantly, chasing him until he falls asleep and staying with him even afterward in his nightmares. 

Yet around a week ago, the voices had lowered in volume, people starting to enjoy the comfort of the hearth more than the oblivion of alcohol. And tonight, for the first time, not a word is audible from outside. 

Tonight, for the first time, it’s the regular breathing of the woman beside him that lulls him to sleep. 

“What are you thinking about?” Dany rolls across the bed, coming to cuddle closer to his side. 

He looks at her, immediately finding two stormy violet eyes already staring at him in worry, the sparkles in them visible even in the dim light of their chambers. 

Jon stretches one arm to encircle her shoulders, her head coming to rest on it comfortably like she has done every night for the past month now. When Dany finally places her hand on his chest, right above his heart and the scars of his past, Jon knows she can feel the increasing pounding of his heart from how _right_ this – her – feels. 

He sighs. “I still can’t believe the war is over.” 

“It is, Jon.” He feels almost shy under the fierceness of her look, as if she has always known that they would make it to the end, that they would stick _together_. “It’s real,” she whispers. 

Her fingers start moving on his skin, drawing abstract figures in the process – a gesture of reassurance Jon has come to find incredibly comforting during his worst nights, when icy eyes devoid of any emotion come to visit him in his sleep, or when a ghost of the pain in his chest makes him cringe so bad that he awakens with a loud scream. At that, Dany would scoot closer and start caressing his shoulders or his face, tracing the lines of his bones as if she needed to remember every curve, every angle of his body and imprint it in her mind forever. She has a special focus on his scars, he notices, the one above his heart in particular. She touches it very often before going to sleep, her delicate fingers hovering on his broken skin with curiosity rather than hesitation. 

“Doesn’t it upset you?” Jon had once asked her when her palm had finally settled, covering the gash almost completely. 

But Dany had shaken her head, lilac eyes lost in his with awe, and replied: “Why would it? It reminds me you’re alive.” 

And they are alive. Physically exhausted and emotionally wrecked, but here they are. Together. 

Outside the wind sounds in a long howl; the noise of shattered houses and remains of the war still lying scattered on the ground here and there comes through the opened window of their room, and something heavy starts forming again inside his chest.

It’s already been a moon and yet the city is far from solid. The rubble has been removed for the most part, but there are buildings and facilities to rebuild, not to mention the Red Keep where the couple is currently residing— though they have decided to restore it last since as long as they have at least a place to sleep and eat, the people have to come first. 

“There’s still so much to do, though.” Jon gives voice to his worries with another sigh, his hand now covering hers on his chest. “So much to fix.”

Dany adjusts by his side, resting her head on his shoulder so that her neck is at a better angle as she looks at him. The corners of her mouth turn upright when she spots his furrowed brow, immediately trying to soothe it with her fingertips, her touch working as a balm to his nerves. Jon allows his lids to close for a moment to relax, hypnotized by the movements of her fingers, before opening them back again when her hand finally stops on his cheek,finding her smiling fondly at him. 

“I’ve seen you get through a lot worse…” Her eyes soften, darting to his lips for a second before locking back on his own, an endearing look full of all the memories that brought them together— fights, wars, obstacles of any kind and yet so, so much love— crosses her face. “ _My king_ ,” she adds with a whisper. 

Jon returns the smile. “I would’ve never made it without you, my Queen,” he says, brushing his fingers over her shoulder. But as he pronounces those last words, Dany’s expression suddenly changes at hearing the title, her eyes that had stared at him warmly mere seconds before now growing detached, holding worry and… fear? He has seen her scared before, but never in his arms. 

When she swallows hard and he notices she’s avoiding his gaze, Jon finally asks. “What is it?” He hugs her tight against his side but Dany goes rigid, her hand on his chest now clenched into a fist and her lips pressed together. 

Dany lets out a long, shaky sigh, forewarning already the heaviness of her words. “I had been thinking… I am not… I am not sure this is the right choice,” she says in a small voice. “Me,” she then adds even quieter, catching Jon’s confused expression. 

He takes a moment to understand what she really means by that, and as it strikes him a sudden wave of panic and _anxiety_ grows in his chest. “You’re the rightful heir to the throne as much as I am,” he states, looking her straight in the eye to let her know how much he means that. He could go on and give her all his personal reasons for why she should keep her title, tell her about his feelings, about the right everything seems when they’re together. But her title doesn’t depend on him; her claim to be queen is not a consequence of their marriage. She _deserves_ the throne, and she has proved it numerous times. 

Dany gives him a painful look. “They chose you _,”_ she says. “ _You_ killed Cersei.”

“I was able to do that only because _you_ had my back the whole time with Drogon!” Jon hisses. How can she not see that? How can she not understand how important her role had been? That everyone, him included, would’ve been dead long ago if it wasn’t for her. “I wouldn’t be here without you.” 

Her look grow softer at his last statement, but Jon can spot a shade of sadness in her eyes, as if she already knew all of that and still, thinks it isn’t enough. 

Finally, she looks away. “I can’t give you a family,” she breathes out. The pain in her voice splinters his heart. “I can’t give you what another woman could.” 

“ _You_ are my family!” At the rise in his tone Dany’s forced to look at him, her gorgeous lilac eyes wet already. Unable to contain it, a lonely tear escapes the corner of her eye, tracing a path down her cheek. Before it can fall down her chin, Jon brushes it away with his thumb and cups her face.

Now that they’re both sitting on the mattress, her soft curls fall loose around her cheeks, where the silver of her hair meets her ivory skin, creating a beautiful contrast with the violet pits of her eyes and her full red lips. _Don’t you see it_ , he thinks, _that before you came into my life everything was black and white whereas now there’s color everywhere?_

“I don’t care what the others could give me. I don’t love the others,” he whispers to her, noses almost touching. “I love _you.”_

Dany looks up at him. There’s a moment of hesitation in her eyes, her mouth parting just a little, ready to retort. But Jon takes immediate advantage of that pause to press his lips against hers with such an intensity that it leaves her breathless. The gasp she emits the moment their mouths lock soon turns into a soft sigh when she allows herself to melt, opening her mouth to let his tongue in and tilting her head so to have better access herself to his mouth. 

Jon moves his lips slowly, savouring the taste of her, how the softness of her own lips inebriates his senses through only the act of kissing. The way she instinctively responds to the kiss makes him think she feels it too, tangling her hand in his curls to pull him closer as if she is afraid to lose him. He could make all the promises he wants and still, she would be terrified of being left alone. And as his hands trace her curves, his mouth now pressed on her pulse point, teasing and scraping, trying to empty her mind from paranoid nightmares, he realizes that all he wants is to give her all of it. All of the world, all of him, and make sure it _stays_.

With that thought in mind he pushes gently on her shoulders to lie her down, eventually breaking the kiss against both their wills and hovering over her and gently parting her legs, meeting no protest in the process. 

Taking her in one last time, he leans down and kisses her, roughly yet so sweetly at the same time. _I will never leave you_. 

He kisses her slowly to let her know that there’s no need to rush, because they have all the time ahead, together. _You’ll never be alone again._

Jon kisses her lovingly, and with the same love held in his mouth he pushes forward and finally joins their bodies, fitting so perfectly into one another.

He makes love to her, and silently promises to do so for the rest of his life.

_You have a family now._

* * *

The first time it happens she’s on top of him. 

He had been thrusting inside her beforehand, when with a quick move Dany had twisted them both rapidly, coming to straddle his hips and sinking deep onto his length. She starts moving right after, not even giving him the time to adjust under her as her hips set a slow rhythm against his, making his eyes roll at the sensation. Jon grips her hip with one hand, the other cupping her breast to tease her nipple, and that one movement sends shivers of pleasure down her body at once, rivulets of sweat running down her skin as she closes her eyes and–

“Oh–“ Dany stops abruptly, her face suddenly pale. She brings a hand up to cover her mouth, and as he sits up instinctively to caress her back, he realizes her dampened skin is actually covered in _cold_ sweat. 

Jon looks up at her, holding her in place, and when she opens her eyes again he sees them watery, slightly dilated.

“Dany, are you–?”

But his question dies in his throat, cut off by another cramp of hers. Without any warning she slides off of him and runs away, still bare, toward the garderobe of their chamber.

Jon stays still on the mattress for a couple of seconds, trying to gather his thoughts back together and recover from the shock, before he quickly stands up, puts his trousers back on from where he had tossed them moments before and follows Dany into the other room. 

To his horror, he finds her on the floor and bent over a bucket, clutching the edges so hard that her knuckles turn white from the strength of her grip. 

Without thinking twice, he rushes forward to her side. “Dany, hey.” He brings a hand to her temple and finds it damp with sweat. “What is it?” he says, pushing back her hair from her face. 

Dany shakes her head. “I don’t know, I… I just felt sick all of a sudden.” She swallows hard, visibly scared that the retching might start again, but fortunately it doesn’t. So instead she just sits on the floor, half exhausted, and reaches for Jon’s hand. “You can go back to bed, love. I’ll be right behind you,” she tells him softly, flashing him a weak reassuring smile. 

Jon can’t help but huff in laughter at her, his tough queen, yet so incredibly soft at the same time. He feels so lucky to get to know both those sides. 

“Here.” 

Dany begins to protest when his arms wrap around her without hesitation, ignoring her earlier suggestions, but her retorts quickly stop once she finds herself lifted up and pressed against the warmth of his torso, her head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. 

Jon’s heart melts at how petite she feels in his arms, amazed at how such a small thing can be both lethal and sweet, dangerous and fragile all in one person. The goosebumps on her bare skin disappear almost instantly when he lies her back on the mattress and covers her completely with the furs, a content sigh escaping her lips as he does so. 

He notices she’s also gaining back some color, slightly less pale than when he found her on the floor before. But then again, Jon is well aware of his wife’s impeccable health – since he has known her, he has never seen her ill once; despite the harsh weather or the numerous fights, she’s always been physically strong. It’s not so much the sickness itself that worries him, but rather the rarity of the occurrence. 

“I’ll go call Missandei,” he finally decides after offering Daenerys a cup of water. 

“Jon, stop worrying…”

“She can prepare you an infusion or something to relax for the night.” He sits beside her, taking her hand in his and voluntarily avoiding her eyes for a moment. He can’t stand to see her sick and not be able to do anything about it. “I feel useless. I don’t know what I can do to make you feel better.” 

At his confession, Dany’s look softens. Her own hand twists in his to entwine her fingers with his and pull him closer to her, forcing him to lie down as well. 

“Come here,” she says softly, shifting a few inches to make room for him. “I don’t need any infusions. I only need you,” she whispers. 

As he lies down by her side, she turns around in his arms so that he can spoon her, his arm circling her waist in a move that’s become automatic by now. He hears her contented sigh when he presses his body closer to hers, brushing his knuckles over her side as he knows it will facilitate her sleep. 

“It’s okay, love,” Jon says quietly in the dark, her breathing getting slower and slower to his soothing touch. “I’m sure it’s nothing grave.”

A tired, weak hum of response is the only thing he hears before his eyelids become heavy too. The hollow of panic in his chest soon fades away, her scent of vanilla inebriating his senses as he slowly closes the eyes and finally falls asleep with Dany wrapped in his arms and his hand resting loosely on her belly.

* * *

For obvious reasons, he doesn’t question Missandei’s presence on the training field when he spots her coming down the path that leads to the Red Keep. It _does_ surprise him, though, when, instead of stopping at Grey Worm’s side, who now stands in front of the army giving orders to the Unsullied, she passes by the captain with just a smile and heads toward Jon instead, her smile turning to a stern look the moment she meets his eyes. 

_Now_ he’s worried.

“Your Grace,” she greets him, carefully avoiding his gaze, he notices.

“What is the matter, Missandei?” Jon tries to keep his tone calm, as to not sound rude, but the look on the woman’s face makes his heart thunder for some reason, the concern in her amber eyes giving enough of a hint about who he should be worried about. 

Missandei lifts her head to look at him, her straight composure betrayed only by the trembling in her voice. “The Queen hasn’t felt very well this morning,” she says hesitantly. “She’s been sick for quite some time.” 

“The same?” Jon asks, his feet already marching towards the palace. Missandei follows right behind him. 

“Yes, your Grace.” 

Jon just nods, serious, already on his way to the entrance, passing the guards and heading to his rooms. “It’s the second time in a week.” 

Missandei doesn’t reply to his statement, which initially he takes as an act of pure politeness and simple agreement. But then he glimpses her from the corner of his eye and notices a stony expression on her face, her eyes fixed forward to avoid his. 

“Isn’t it?” Jon’s look grows quizzical.

Slowing down so that she can match his pace, he turns to her and sees her swallow hard before replying. “The third, your Grace,” Missandei confesses, voice small. 

“The third,” he repeats, unable to keep his voice flat anymore, feeling panic and rage floating in his veins. He must look petrified, he assumes, from spotting Missandei’s wide eyes, so he tries to fake nonchalonce as he climbs the stairs and stops just in front of the wooden door. 

He feels nauseous. A pang of fear makes his stomach hurt, his chest heavy because Daenerys just _doesn’t_ get sick. Truly never. Something is happening, and for the umpteenth time Jon feels totally _helpless_. 

“Your Grace?” Missandei calls softly beside him. He hasn’t made a move yet, standing still in front of the door. 

Trying not to get too overwhelmed by the worst case scenarios in his mind, Jon takes a deep breath and finally knocks at the door. 

He barely waits for her to respond, swinging the door open instead to find Dany sitting in bed, a mug of something steaming in her hands, dressed in her usual regal clothes, though he notices she has loosened some laces at her sides and the front. 

She actually does _not_ look ill, he happily notices. Tired, yes, even sleepy maybe, but not ill. 

“Dany, how are you feeling?” He rushes forward to sit beside her and he’s suddenly hit by the stinging perfume coming for the infusion in her hands. “What is that?” 

“You told him?” Daenerys ignores him and asks Missandei with a scolding look.

Missandei, for her part, seems taken aback by the queen’s reaction; her eyes dart from hers to Jon’s, apologetic and slightly guilty. “Your Grace, he has to know if you–“ 

“That’s something _I_ get to decide.” 

“He was _worried.”_

“Yes, because he’s been told.”

“Don’t you want to know my opinion?” Jon finally interjects. Both women look at him, curious.

“I think you should go to the Maester, see if there’s something wrong,” he tells her, taking her hand in his. 

Dany’s look softens at once, her eyes endearing. She shakes her head. “There’s no need.”

“There _is_ , Dany.” He sighs, almost exasperated by her obstinance. “Your health’s always been impeccable, you know it better than I do. Besides,” he adds when he sees her about to retort, his tone growing pleading, “It’s just to check. Please?”

Her gaze toward him is obstile, severe, which really, Jon doesn’t understand. She’s getting sick frequently, they require an expert, they have it; is it such an illogical thing to have your health checked when you’re not feeling well? Why is she so determined _not_ to know? 

But if she doesn’t agree, Dany doesn’t say anymore. She holds his gaze, considering, her lilac irises hypnotizing, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighs, and nods, lacing her fingers with his. 

“Fine. I’ll go today,” Dany concedes.

“Today?” Jon feels the panic rising again. “I have a meeting with the ironwood merchants today.”

“I know, that’s why I’ll go with Missandei.”

“ _Or_ I could delay the meeting,”Jon says tentatively. “Besides, I would like you to attend the trading with me.” 

Dany’s lips turn upright to form a small smile at the reminder that they are, indeed, ruling together. “I appreciate the trust you put in me with the city’s affairs, my love, but we both know that I am no expert when it comes to building materials. Besides, these lords have travelled from Essos to make this trade; we cannot take advantage of their patience.”

“Wouldn’t a compatriot of theirs in the meeting set them more at ease?” he insists. She just sounds like she doesn’t _want_ to be there. 

“Not if the compatriot in question vomits on their papers, I believe,” she insists, eyes challenging. “And we _really_ need that ironwood to rebuild our ships Jon, you know that.”

Her determination is certainly one of the many reasons why he loves her so much, but gods, she’s way too good at this. 

“Aye, I know,” he agrees quietly. “I just wanted to be with you today.” 

He feels her fingers disentangling from his, only to lift them up to his face, and Jon’s suddenly forced to look at her, their eyes locking together. 

“It will be fine,” she whispers, giving him a reassuring look, her thumbs tracing the line of his jaw automatically. “We shall talk about it tonight, alright?”

He nods and closes the distance, meeting her halfway. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpses at Missandei’s figure standing silently at the entrance with her back turned to them as they kiss chastely, yet lingering a bit too long before separating.

Later, in the evening, they part ways after greeting the lord merchants in the main hall of the castle, Dany excusing herself to leave for “personal matters,” as she tells them. 

As she climbs the nearest stairs that lead to the Maester's rooms, Jon doesn’t miss the anxious look on her face, pale with something he thinks goes beyond a simple illness this time. 

* * *

  
  


“So what did he say?” 

He doesn’t even bother to knock at the door that night as he enters their private rooms. The meeting had lasted the whole afternoon and, after the affair was done, out of courtesy Jon had invited the merchants for dinner at the palace. He’s usually not too fond of all those formalities; back at home, when he was King in the North, they weren’t necessary or particularly required, given the common manners of the northern people. Daenerys, on the other hand, even if she never received a formal education either, has been accustomed all her life to meetings with noblemen constantly trying to overcome her. 

That’s why he always likes it better when they’re together to deal with the political issues. It’s addictive – the power he feels with her. 

Now, even in her nightgown and with her curls loose down her back as she carefully combs them by the vanity, Jon’s never seen anyone more effortlessly regal than his wife. 

Closing the door behind him, his eyes never leave her figure for even for a second, anxious as he is about what she has to say. But Dany, for her part, doesn’t reply at once, still facing the mirror in front of her impassibly If he hadn’t noticed the way her back had gone slightly rigid when he stepped into the room, Jon would’ve assumed she hadn’t even heard him. Her body is positioned so that he can’t even catch a glimpse of her reflection, and a cultraine of silver hair covers the side of her face almost completely. The only hints of emotions are given away by the tenseness of her muscles and an almost imperceptible trembling of her hands.

He stops moving, stops breathing. Panic paralyzes him, and, rather childishly, the first instinct he has is to cry. 

The first of many frightening scenarios starts playing in his head— he tried all day to push them from his mind during the bloody meeting, but now they take the lead, one by one, cracking his head with an explosion of fear. Fear of _losing her_. 

Somehow he manages to take a step forward, his feet suddenly unstable, but as his mouth opens to speak, overcoming the lump in his throat for a bold second, she turns around and _smiles._

And air floods in his lungs again. 

“It’s alright,” she just says. 

He takes a moment to study her face, watching her rosy cheeks naturally flush at the touch of the warm night, her soft smile widening a bit at his sight, with her lower lip slightly reddened, making him think it had been trapped between her teeth seconds before. And the look in her eyes… They hold fondness and hesitation, a combination he had seen rarely directed at him, and only when they used to share an island together, at a time when they were unaware of their feelings for each other— which, for how brave they can be in a fight, swinging a sword or riding a dragon, it took them a whole new kind of courage to admit. After that, everything was amplified. 

Fondness became love, hesitation turned into fear of losing that love. 

Both running parallels and growing bigger. More love, more fear; More, more, _more_. 

“Is it?” he hears himself asking, hating the tentative tone of his voice even when everything seems to go well. Bad habit. 

“Yes, love.” Dany stands up and walks toward him, stopping only a few inches away. 

“What did he say?” Jon then asks. He hasn’t received the response he wanted after all. “What was the problem? Did he give you some treatment?”

But instead of replying, Dany just takes his hands and pulls him towards her, moving backwards at the same time to carry both of them to the edge of their bed. With her eyes fixed on his, violet shimmering with something Jon can’t quite decipher yet, she slowly reaches for the laces on her front, unfastening the loose ribbon between her breasts and letting the nightgown fall to her feet.

There won’t be a time when he won’t remain dumbstruck at the sight of Daenerys Targaryen bare in front of him, that’s one of the few certainties Jon has in his life. Still, he doesn’t move. Just swallows hard, before repeating in a voice definitely huskier than moments ago, “What did he say?”

“That I’m fine,” she snaps, matter-of-factly. Her look turns hostile at his lack of attentions. 

She pouts, failing in her attempt not to show her annoyance, and he loves her. 

“Aye, but I want to know what was wrong with you, why you were sick.” Unable to resist any longer Jon’s hands move to her sides, resting on her waist. 

Dany rolls her eyes at his obstinacy, an exasperated sigh escaping her mouth before she closes the small distance left between their bodies and circles his neck with her arms. With her bare chest pressed against his and her delicate scent of roses mixing with his thoughts, Jon finds it harder and harder to focus on his point. 

“Daenerys.”

“I’m alright, that’s all you need to know.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

“That right now I want to get fucked.”

“Oh.”

“You really can’t take a hint, can you, Jon Snow?” 

Jon laughs and finally leans in to kiss her. Still on the edge of raging from the wait he forced her into, Dany first gasps at the sensation of his lips against hers, but soon her mouth starts to move too in perfect sync with his, as it always has from their very first kiss on that lucky boat. She scrapes his lips with her teeth, rises on her tiptoes to tilt his head, almost climbing on him for the passion she puts into that kiss, and when Jon’s hand lowers to find her center, he’s not surprised to feel her damp already, hot and spreading fire all over his body. 

He deepens the kiss, suffocating her moan as he does so, and without further ado he discards his clothes - fortunately not as many as they used to be in the North - and follows her in bed, his mouth already on her body as she arches into him in search of more contact. 

Of all the ways he loves how she says his name, Jon thinks, maybe superficially and slightly possessively, nothing compares to the way she screams it, moans it, even. He’s addicted to the sound, wants to _watch_ it every time he has the chance, for how beautiful and desperate it is. She used to hold it back, back on the boat. He hopes she knows that now, maybe for the first time in her life, there’s nothing holding her back, that they’re together now and blissfully free. 

So he lets her scream his name twice that night, studies her gorgeous chest swelling and then letting it all out, sighing, peaceful and relieved, before searching for Jon’s eyes with her lilac stare to smile at him in awe, as he spills into her a few moments after. 

“I love you,” Dany whispers in his ear when he snuggles closer to her. 

He doesn’t want to sleep, not yet. But his eyelids are incredibly heavy now, the effects of hours of political affairs and love-making hitting him all of sudden once he lies down and allows his muscles and mind to relax. 

He manages to whisper the words back too, though, before everything becomes black, lulled by the feeling of the woman he loves in his arms. And by now, the talk about her sickness is long forgotten. 

* * *

She’s been avoiding him for nineteen days. Not that he’s counting. 

Initially Jon thought it was a problem of scheduling, mostly, because they always found each other busy with different issues to solve, making it impossible to meet during the day. He would be helping with rebuilding the boats, and she would be out in the city taking care of the children. He would be planning the supplies for the following moon, she would be meeting the common people to hear their complaints. He would be in the palace, she in town. He would be in town, she up with Drogon. 

At night, the only part of the day when they inevitably share the same room, they happen to have short conversations, cut off eventually by Daenerys’ sudden desire to assault him with her glorious mouth, forcing any type of talk Jon had planned to have to be pushed back into some remote corner of his mind. 

And Jon never, _ever_ would’ve thought he would get annoyed by the sex with Daenerys Targaryen. 

It’s just… He misses talking to her so much. He’s never been good at talking— eloquence is not his peculiarity for sure— but with Dany it does come so much easier. He had started loving her because of that in the first place, because of how good and _right_ it feels to open up to her. Her body is just a bonus - a breathtaking one, of course - but it’s the whole of her that has him mesmerized all the time. Now, for some reason, she’s taking that piece of her away. 

What Jon had initially defined as a simple coincidence, he is now convinced is more than that. He gets the weariness, as well as the lack of privacy the two of them must endure these days. What he does _not_ get is Daenerys’ sudden change of behaviour. 

Jon wouldn’t address it as properly distant, because nothing in her manners makes him think there is a change in her feelings for him. She still gives him those warm smiles that she keeps only for him, and her eyes never stop searching for Jon among a crowd. He also observes how nervous she gets when she doesn’t spot him and, when they’re alone, her touches are anything but cold. And she tells him. She tells him every day that she loves him, as if he might forget or even grow doubtful of it. 

As if she _knows_ something in her attitude might make him think so. 

Because every time he asks her about her sickness Dany just mutters a positive reply without any further explanation; if he insists, she pushes him onto the bed and eventually rides him mercilessly, erasing every question he has with the fire of passion. And if he manages to carve out a little time of his day to visit her wherever she might be and see her, she greets him warmly, kisses him with those long eyelashes fluttering while she melts against his lips, and then excuses herself to fulfill some other tasks that Jon’s _sure_ could be left to someone else, or some other time. 

At night they always make love to each other, and with the lights off; he notices she meticulously makes sure to blow out the candles beforehand. If getting her out of so many layers of clothing had been a challenge with the help of the soft dim light, now in the dark it can’t be but utterly _frustrating_. 

He doesn’t question it, though. Not her. 

One day Jon finds Missandei alone by the lake, filling buckets of water with other women as well. It’s such a rare occurrence to see the trustworthy advisor not by her queen’s side lately that Jon can’t help but taking advantage of the situation.

“Missandei!” he calls her. 

The brunette woman turns around fast, wide eyes meeting his as he approaches her at the shore. She lowers the bucket to the ground, greeting him with a simple bow of the head. “Your Grace.”

“I hope you take some time to rest, too. Every time I see your you’re always at work,” Jon tells her with a smile. 

“I do only what I can, your Grace.” She smiles back, her look gentle as it meetshis. “Which is not much, compared to what you and the Queen do every day,” she adds, a slight sense of guilt hidden in her tone, but Jon automatically ignores it at the mention of Daenerys. 

“Speaking of,” he starts; Missandei’s shoulders go rigid. “Have you seen her today?” 

Missandei nods. “Last time I saw her she was on her way to the Dothraki for the report about the dragons’ feeding, your Grace.” 

He pauses, considering her words. 

“How is she?” he then asks, almost shy at the insinuation that he might not know how his own wife is doing.

“She’s well,” she replies, her eyes now slightly narrowed to study his expression. “No?” she then asks, confused.

Jon just shrugs. “I guess, we… we haven’t talked much lately.”

“Oh.” 

Now it’s Jon’s turn to turn quizzical. “Is there something going on with Daenerys? You’re her most trusted advisor and her dearest friend, you would know.”

But this time Missandei stays silent, just looks up at him with a painful look that causes his heart to pang in an instant. “Have her sentiments muted? Maybe–”

“No, your Grace,” the brunette interjects at once. “I’m sure of my words, when I tell you the Queen loves you dearly. In fact, I’m positive I’ve never seen her quite so happy as when she’s with you.”

At that Jon can’t help but smile. Despite the reassurances Dany herself gave him, hearing Missandei’s words, the only person who knows her as well as he does probably, gives him some kind of relief. Although the confusion is far from erased, still. 

“Then what is it?” he insists. “She has acted strangely for a while and wouldn’t talk about it.”

Missandei looks down, visibly struggling. “I don’t know, your Grace.” She meets his eyes again, earnest as he rarely saw, before adding, “If you accept any advice, though, I would suggest to give the queen some time.”

“Time to do what?” Jon immediately asks.

“To reflect,” she just says. But before he can ask for further information, Missandei takes a step forward and gently places a hand on his shoulder, probably the most intimate contact he’s ever had with the woman. Yet, maybe for the comforting gesture or the warmth in her gaze, Jon’s back relaxes a bit now, and after a small squeeze she adds, “She’s not sick, your Grace, and she loves you deeply.” Her smile widens. “Give her time.” 

Then Missandei retracts her hand, bows her head slightly and excuses herself, before leaving him in front of the now empty forest with his mind full of thoughts. Somehow relieved. 

* * *

He’s well aware by now that lately Jon is the least updated person in the city about his wife’s movements, but he thinks not even knowing when she’s in the same building as him is _ridiculous_ , to put it mildly. 

Yet, that evening he comes back from hunting, thinking she might be still somewhere with the dragons, and heads to their garderobe with the intent of taking a warm bath… if said bath wasn’t already occupied by Daenerys in the flesh. 

As no one had informed him beforehand of her arrival as usual, Jon is so taken aback by her presence that his first instinct is, oh-so-ridiculously, to turn around and cover his eyes with his hand, as if he didn’t already know every single inch of her naked body by heart. 

He stops before doing so though, dumbstruck by the sight of Daenerys with one foot out of the receptacle while the other still stands immersed in the steaming water, her arm slightly stretched towards Missandei to reach for her robe, giving him a spectacular view of her wet torso from that angle. 

Jon takes a silent moment to worship her body, shining in the dim light of the few candles disposed by the shelves, the shadows emphasizing even more the perfect curves of her bosom, the smooth wave connecting with her hips, and the softness of her abdomen where now–

Jon’s heart skips a beat.

“D-Dany,” he stutters.

His brain suddenly starts buzzing with thoughts, his heart racing in trying to keep its pace, but they seem incapable of synchronizing, _agreeing,_ because what Jon’s seeing is absolutely marvelous and yet impossible at the same time. _She_ had told him, a long time ago. It just cannot be. 

Dany, for her part, doesn’t need to follow his gaze to know where he’s staring at with his eyes, now impossibly wide with a mix of shock and awe that he has never felt in his life before. She doesn’t even try to cover her belly, taking the robe Missandei is offering with one hand and wrapping it loosely around her waist. 

As for Missandei, Jon sees, she looks just as petrified as her queen is, with her amber eyes darting from his figure to Dany’s, a light gulp escaping her lips right before Daenerys places a hand gently on her shoulder and bows her head as a sign to dismiss her. 

So the advisor tiptoes towards the exit, an apologetic look quickly thrown in his direction, before Jon is finally left alone with his wife. 

“Jon–“

“Are you expecting a baby?” He doesn’t even let her continue. 

Daenerys doesn’t reply, only limits herself to looking at him straight in the eye with her soft lilac eyes, holding a sentiment of guilt that makes her look so pleading that it melts his heart. 

The guilt, he understands. What Jon is confused about, though, is the shade of _fear_ mixed with that. 

Dany holds his gaze a while more, before finally dropping her sights to her lower abdomen as an answer. Even if it is now covered with the silky material of her robe, Jon can still spot the little bump of her belly, almost imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know her body so perfectly as he does. 

When her hands come to cover the small mound, the instinctive gesture warming his whole body alight with something new, that’s when it clicks to him – the reason for her strange behavior all this time. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jon asks, unable to help the hurt in his voice.

Dany looks back at him, pain visible in her eyes as she lets out a long sigh. “I…” Her voice breaks. “I guess I wanted to make sure it was real.”

And a whole new kind of epiphany now hits him.

There are tears in her eyes; he sees the struggle to compose herself in her face, and he knows his own eyes are wet too from the way Dany gives him a small smile of reassurance. To reassure him of what, he doesn’t know. 

“All these years I was told I was barren, that I couldn’t have children after–“ even if she doesn’t finish, the unsaid name soars in the air like a scream. “I still can’t believe it,” she concludes with a watery smile. 

“Dany, you didn’t have to go through this alone. I should’ve known.” He gets closer to take her hands in his. “You… you left me out of this.” 

He didn’t mean it to sound accusatory, but the soft tone he uses certainly doesn’t soften the blame. But Dany doesn’t seem in the place to confute him, deciding instead on bringing his hands to her lips and pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

He sees her swallow, and he understands she’s measuring her words now. After all this time spent together, every day of every moon, Jon realizes he has become so accustomed to reading her body signs to know exactly the way she feels even before being told. 

“I was scared of letting you down if the baby wasn’t real. I didn’t want to bring your hopes high for a future family and then crush them down like an illusion.” She says it all while avoiding his eyes, looking down at their tangled hands instead.

“Dany…” He cradles her face as if she’s made of glass, as if she isn’t the most powerful woman he’s ever met. He lets his thumbs travel across her cheeks, dumbstruck and wrecked at the same time from her confession, and Jon thinks he hasn’t loved her this much ever before. “You could never let me down with such a thing,” he tells her. “I will be with you always, _regardless_ of the baby, you understand?” 

She nods, her amethyst pits watering with emotion. 

“But I have to say,” Jon then adds, letting one hand wander down her body until it reaches the curve of her abdomen, covering it fully with his big hand, “I’ve never felt happier in my entire life.”

He stares at her, honest and in awe, and Dany looks back at him just as lovingly, before she lets out a teary laugh, a burden finally crumbling off of her shoulders only to turn into something warmer, more tender in both their chests. She wraps her arms around his neck and Jon meets her halfway, his own arms circling her waist and his mouth finding hers at once. 

Their mouths move slowly; he pulls apart only a few inches to see her eyes fluttering in pure oblivion, before he closes the distance again and deepens the kiss, her hand now on his jaw to pull him closer, the other sliding over his chest to feel his erratic heartbeat against her palm. 

He knows she does when he feels the corner of her lips turning upright against his mouth, a smile of love and _relief_ crossing her beautiful features, and suddenly gravity has nothing on them, Jon feeling so light that he thinks happiness could be enough to make him fly. 

They separate after a few moments of bliss, searching each others’ eyes as an automatic move, and when he reflects himself in her eyes, all he sees is the undeniable love that pumps in his heart, and an immense sense of gratitude for the miracle that they made happen together.

* * *

The group of people contemplate the map on the table with a long pause, none of them saying a word as they study the geography of the country, trying to decide the easiest way to travel to Highgarden. 

“It will take us around four days ridin’ to get to the city,” Jon starts. “Half a day more to get back I suppose, considering the loaded supplies and food we’ll take. We’ll bring some extra horses with us so that it’ll be easier to carry everything on the road back to the capital,” he states. 

“We barely have food for us. How will we be able to afford to feed more horses?” Grey Worm interjects, his tone skeptical, making his accent come out a little sharper. 

“It’ll be a compromise for a few days only. Once in Highgarden we shall be able to carry more supplies this way.”

“Why don’t we leave with the Dothraki instead?” Dany then asks, all pairs of eyes now watching her. “We would spare a day at least, for sure.” 

Jon’s eyes grow quizzical, a confused expression showing on his face. “And how will they handle the trade? Lord Bronn doesn’t speak Dothraki, for what I know.” 

Her first thought obviously goes to Missandei, but for how good the woman has gotten on a horse during their long marching, the translator is still far from capable of keeping up with the Dothraki’s pace.

Dany shrugs. “I do. I can ride like them, and once in the city I shall speak with Lord Bronn myself.” 

“You will stay here.” 

He hadn’t even said it loudly, but maybe from the gravity of his tone or the unwavering look he gives her, a tense pause falls across the room. Now everyone’s eyes dart from the king to the queen, as if in waiting for some kind of explosion to happen between them. 

Instead, when Daenerys answers, her voice is calm, her face unreadable. “You know another person who can ride just as fast and speak both the common language and their language, my love?” 

“Grey Worm will do,” he replies sharply, holding her determined gaze. “He knows enough words to give the main orders and he’s without any doubt the fastest of his men, even on a horse.”

Daenerys looks suddenly hurt, betrayed, as if she hadn’t thought of any better alternative. As if she hadn’t considered the fact that, if pregnant, she would have to change a thing or three regarding her own welfare. 

Right when she opens her mouth to protest, Jon cuts her off. “You can’t ride a horse for _days_ in your condition, Dany.” The news of the queen’s pregnancy has been spreading for days by now, so even though it was no surprise to the lords in the room, at Jon’s retort every pair of eyes goes wide, mouths silent as they watch the couple confronting each other. “Right now the baby’s safety and yours are my main concern.” 

At that Daenerys’ expression turns softer— her eyes are still on fire with determination, but he can glimpse a tender shadow in them now. “Jon, I’m very well aware of how to-”

“My queen, I mean no offense, but I think the king is right,” Tyrion interrupts, meeting her eyes as she looks back at him. “His concerns are right to take into consideration. In fact, I reckon a simple trot would bring no harm to the baby, but a pace as fast as the Dothraki’s, I’d suggest you avoid.” 

Daenerys stays silent for a long minute, staring at the dwarf, pondering, before her gaze shifts to meet Jon’s eyes. Finally, she sighs. “Alright then.” 

Even though Jon had known she would’ve given up eventually, he can’t help the relief he feels at her consent. He’s never been so overprotective towards anyone in his life, safe for Arya when she was little, maybe. 

“We shall discuss the details tomorrow,” Daenerys concludes, putting an end to the meeting. She waits for everyone to leave, informing Missandei to meet her in her chambers, as she gets closer to Jon and presses a peck on his lips with a challenging look he knows far too well by now. 

“And _we_ will see each other later,” she says, her husky voice making him swallow hard. 

Jon nods, his cheeks feeling like they’re on fire, but he couldn’t care less. He pulls her in for one more kiss, lingering a little bit longer this time, before letting her go. 

He turns around and that’s when he notices Tyrion hasn’t left the room yet. 

He’s just turned around, a cup of wine in one of his hands already, stretched towards him in offering. 

“I feel we haven’t had the chance to celebrate yet,” Tyrion says with a warm smile on his face. 

Jon smiles back at him and gladly accepts the glass. 

“Thank you, Tyrion,” he says. “I would be more likely to celebrate in brighter times, though.” 

“The war is over. This is probably the brightest time Westeros has ever seen.” 

“Aye, but I cannot help but think about the price we all had to pay,” he whispers in confession, knowing Tyrion will understand better than others. And yet, the cup of wine in his hand has a weight he doesn’t afford to beat sometimes. 

“Tyrion… I don’t know if I had the chance to tell you this but–“ he clears his throat, suddenly uneasy. “But I’m sorry about your sister.” 

“Thank you, Jon Snow,” Tyrion says. “You did the right thing, though.” 

He can almost catch a glint of sorrow in his eyes. Despite everything, he reckons, no matter how monstrous a relative can be – the blood remains the same. Jon thinks about Daenerys, of all the stories she had told him about her brother, how cruel to her he used to be… yet one of her dragons had been named after him; until the very end she had felt some kind of affection towards him, even if she did what she had to do, and rightfully so. 

“Let’s not think about the past,” Tyrion offers. “The future ahead seems much more radiant.” 

“That’s the hope, my friend.” 

Their cups clang as they toast to the new reign and start drinking together. 

“I would have offered the queen a cup too, but alcohol is not advisable during pregnancy,” Tyrion says after a long sip. 

“She will have to get used to some changes in her routine, I guess.” Jon smiles. 

“Our queen can be stubborn, though.” The man winks at him, clearly referring to her retorts during the meeting. 

“Aye.” He looks down, his smile for some reason becoming shy. He would hardly admit to anyone but himself that Dany’s stubbornness is one of the hottest things he finds in his wife. 

“Were you mad at her?” asks Tyrion then.

Jon looks at him. 

“For what?”

“Hiding it from you.”

“How do you–“

“She told me.” But when Jon narrows his eyes quizzically, the advisor just shrugs. “I’m her Hand, she wanted advice… most of all, she wanted advice about _you_.” 

Jon looks away, thinking about Dany’s confessions of her insecurities. “So it seems.” 

Maybe noticing the change in his tone, Tyrion approaches him, lowering the wine onto the table and instead resting his now free hand on Jon’s arm comfortingly. 

“From her own experience you can’t blame her for hiding it,” he tells him. 

“I don’t. I’m aware the loss of a child _is_ a trauma.” 

Tyrion looks at him, confused. “I was thinking more of the loss of a mother, actually.”

“What?” Now it is his turn to not understand. 

“Never mind.” Tyrion dismisses the conversation, shaking his hand. “I think you’re right this time. She must be terrified of losing the baby again.”

But despite the change of topic, Tyrion’s words keep playing in Jon’s mind on loop, even when his friend leaves and long afterwards, playing on repeat incessantly over and over again as he rests in their bed, waiting for Dany to fall asleep next to him. His arms wrap tightly around her waist, almost too possessively, as the idea of losing her slowly eats at his brain and takes root in the darkest spots of his mind. 

He hugs her, swallowed by the darkness of the night, her body the only anchor to sanity as he tries so hard to fall asleep, failing.

* * *

He knows he’s become paranoid when, as the couple enters Tyrion’s private rooms to discuss the depart of the Lannister brothers for Casterly Rock once the works in the capital are done, the first thing to cross Jon’s mind is the fact that all three of them share the same tragic birth circumstances. 

It’s become quite an obsession over the past days since Tyrion had brought the fact up last, but Jon can’t help it – the shorter the time is, the more anxious he gets. 

Let alone all the incredibly frustrating contrasting feelings he has about it; on one hand, he’s obviously excited and beyond _happy_ to assist in his baby’s birth, but on the other hand, a little dark voice in his head won’t stop spreading the fear of losing the woman he loves during the operation, as he knows has happened so many times— and the people standing in the room at that moment are proof of that.

He tries to mask it, most of the time anyway, but Jon thinks Dany suspects something is wrong with him from the way he often finds her studying his face when she thinks he doesn’t notice, or the subtle questions she asks before going to bed. 

“Have you been drinking?” she asks out of nowhere while changing into her night clothes. 

Jon turns around so fast he almost stumbles over a chair he hadn’t seen before, his narrowed eyes flashing at her with both confusion and surprise at her assumption. 

“What?”

Dany shrugs, getting closer. “I don’t know, you seemed a bit off earlier with Tyrion, and you have been much too… _clingy_ all day.”

He knows what she’s referring to. When anxiety has the upper hand, Jon can’t help but be _ridiculously_ chivalrous, to the point where she has become extra apprehensive towards him. He had taken her hand against her protests while descending the stairs that evening because he was terrified she might fall. He would make sure to have an arm resting on her waist all the time in case she felt sick all of a sudden. At night he wouldn’t fall asleep if he didn’t hear her breathing become regular first, his hand smoothing over her skin in an attempt to ease his nerves. 

“Have I?” Jon asks, feigning surprise.

Daenerys doesn’t reply, just stands in the middle of the chamber, glaring at him with her arms crossed over her chest. 

If she looked deeper at him, he knows she would find the truth, the source of his worries; he loves the way she can read him like an open book, but it’s in cases like this that it turns out to be not quite a perk at all. 

When she makes it clear with her look that she will not dropped the argument first, Jon finally takes a few steps forward and closes the distance, his right hand automatically coming to rest gently over her belly. 

The gesture seems to warm her up a little, but Dany doesn’t look away, her violet eyes filled with fiery determination. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, _demands_ almost.

“Nothing.” 

“You’re acting strange.”

“You have acted strange for a whole moon.”

“And it turned out I was pregnant.”

“I promise you I have no human being inside me.” 

She grins, visibly holding back a laugh. “That’s comforting.” 

He chuckles and leans closer to catch her lips with his. 

“I’m alright, really,” he whispers her, his arms wrapping around her body immediately. “All I want is for you and the baby to be safe.”

He won’t go on about his nightmares; she doesn’t need to hear that. Jon decides to keep his paranoia to himself and himself only, knowing that no one would be able to do anything about it, except for maybe offer some words of reassurance that wouldn’t change the facts anyway. 

So instead he keeps holding her, pushing his insecurities back in his mind for her, to light her up. 

“Everything will be fine,” she tells him, her chin hidden in the crook of his neck. “I know you are worried, but I also know it’s different this time. I feel it.” She moves her head, shifting slightly so that her ear is right against his heart. “You made the impossible happen,” she says, so quietly he struggles to hear her despite how close they are. 

“ _We_ made it happen.” 

She smiles. After a long pause, Dany unfastens his tunic and kisses his chest lovingly, lingering over the whitish gashes with such tenderness that it makes them burn under the touch of her lips. 

And he holds her; he holds her so tight she almost struggles to move in his arms. He holds her tight because he’s scared beyond measure to lose her one day. Because they fought so hard to seek peace in a world made of war that now that they have found it, it can’t be taken away from them so easily, so soon.

 _Please, please,_ he pleads to the Seven Gods as her mouth finds his and lets her tongue slide in. _Please don’t make me choose this time._

_Pick them both._

_I want them both._

_Please._

* * *

Jon thought his fears would have gone away with time, which they don’t, but now that Dany’s belly has become more visible even through her clothes, all his nightmares are easier to put aside at the sight of her. 

With the coming of the warmer season, Dany had started wearing different kinds of dresses he has never seen before on her, but that are a completely welcome surprise. From the complicated fastenings and the decoration on them, he supposes she used to wear them back in Essos, where the weather is milder and the winters gentler.

As she enters their private rooms, he can’t help but be mesmerized by the view in front of him, her exposed skin leaving little to his imagination as his eyes hungrily scan her figure, lingering a minute too long on the plunging neckline of her navy dress. When he finally lifts his eyes, he finds a playful smirk on her face that makes him both eager and warm at the same time. 

The smirk quickly turns into a grimace as Dany takes off her boots and lets herself plummet onto the bed, massaging her feet. 

“Is everything okay?” Jon asks, brow furrowing. 

Dany nods. “Yes, but I can’t go for a walk without having my feet aching in an hour. Or my back.”

At that, an endearing smile forms on his lips, and without saying a word, Jon approaches her, kneeling silently in front of her and observing her movement with such _warmth_ inside him that he feels it could make his heart combust. She’s just so tiny. And beautiful. _So,_ so beautiful. 

“...and I can’t use a horse, of course. I asked for a saddle even, but the Maester refused to give me permission,” she keeps on ranting. “Do you know what he suggested?” she asks, and from her high-pitched tone Jon suspects she’s about to reveal it. “A _carriage!”_ Dany lets out, her voice marked with indignation and disbelief. Despite her serious expression as she speaks about the topic, Jon can’t help but repress a laugh at her dramatics. 

“Shh, love, I’m sure he meant no offense with his offer,” he tries to soothe her, still unable to stop smiling. 

“Do you see me in a bloody carriage?!” 

The swear is too much: unable to contain himself this time, Jon chuckles, amused. Catching Daenerys’ threatening glare, he composes himself at once, and before she has the time to tell him off, his hands quickly come to rest on her bare feet to replace her own. Dany’s gaze softens immediately.

“I do not,” Jon concedes, moving his fingers to squeeze her feet gently. “But I’m afraid you shall have to wait a few moons more before riding a horse again. Or a dragon.”

Dany throws her head backwards dramatically in response. “Four moons,” she points out, before letting out a soft moan when he presses a palm on a nub of nerves. “Your hands are magic.”

Jon feels his cheeks flood with color at the change of topic. The combination of that statement and Dany’s choice of clothing, in addition to the fact that it’s been a while since they have been intimate with each other - mostly because political affairs have forced them to be separated or have simply exhausted them- makes him swallow hard, a sudden charge of desire invading his body against his will. He decides to ignore the compliment and focuses on Dany’s ankles instead. 

“Four moons until we meet our baby, though,” he replies with a smile.

She beams at him, her smile even wider and looking absolutely _radiant._ Her eyes lower to meet his, purple and silver colliding together, but then suddenly her expression changes again, as if a thought had just crossed her mind. Looking away, Dany says, “I know I’ve been moody lately. I am so sorry, Jon. I make it sound like some sort of burden to me, but you know this is pretty much the happiest thing that has ever happened to me, right?” She looks back at him with pleading eyes, an apology held in her gaze, and Jon instinctively melts. 

He urges forward and without thinking twice, he catches her lips with his. 

The kiss is so unexpected to her that he feels her gasp suffocated by the impetus of his mouth, but as soon as their lips meet she catches up quickly and melts into his touch, her soft whines filling his mind like the sweetest lullaby. 

Moving in sync, Dany makes room for him on the bed and Jon gladly climbs onto it, half hovering over her body with a knee between her thighs and his other leg still standing on the edge. 

“You’re cute when you act moody,” he tells her with a smirk as they separate to catch their breath, his hand cupping her cheek possessively. She stares at him in awe, mouth slightly parted and swollen from the passionate kiss. As she opens it to reply though, he leans in again and presses his lips against hers. 

“And you’re _gorgeous,”_ he breathes out.

Another kiss.

“And intelligent.” He kisses her harder.

“And funny.” 

Before he can catch her lips again, this time Dany backs up a little to chuckle. 

“Me? Funny?” 

“Aye.” He smiles.

“Jon Snow, are you trying to flatter me with fake compliments to get under my gown?” She smirks, her look challenging and amused.

“I don’t have to give you fake compliments to get under your gown,” Jon admits with a shrug, letting one hand slide dangerously high under her dress to mark his point. 

It caresses her skin, making its way up her thigh, slow and hot in tracing the path that, despite his warm touch, leaves goosebumps behind. And her eyes remain fixed on his, hesitant at first, but then as he’s just reached for the sensitive flesh of her groin, with a rapid move she stops his hand with her own, holding still for a second, before moving it up to press it on her hip. 

Jon is about to retort, his protest and frustration probably readable on his face, but then, again to his surprise, Daenerys flips their bodies on the mattress and he finds himself somehow trapped between her body and the bed, her generous bosom a few inches from his face and both her knees straddling his hips. 

“After all,” she says, leaning in to whisper in his ear in a low voice, “There’s still a dragon I can ride.” 

And that said, she grabs the hand that had remained obediently placed on her hip, and without further ado, she moves it between her legs. 

He takes about five seconds to recover from the surprise of her gesture, his fingers curving willingly to do what he knows will give her more pleasure, while the other hand pulls her dress up her waist, wanting to admire her porcelain skin fully displayed. 

They kiss fervently, her moans reverberating against his lips, her whining increasing with every movement of his fingers. She’s forced to break the kiss a few minutes later with a loud gasp when his palm presses on her clit, gently yet still hard enough to send her over the edge. 

Daenerys opens her eyes slowly after her first climax; languid and giant, those violet stars look at him with such adoration that Jon thinks he might explode with emotion at that moment, with his hand still over her center, his other arm embracing her and his eyes full of her. 

He’s about to tell her, his mouth parted already and so close to hers, when Daenerys starts shifting backward, slow in her maneuver with her eyes boring into his,, as if she’s deciding which way to take him first. 

She leaves a ghost of a kiss on his mouth, a promise that she’ll treat him right, before undoing his camise, far too meticulously, too _slow,_ especially when she’s sitting in his lap and he can still feel her wet core against his length, sending shivers of excitement all over his body. 

And he can’t speak. She’s taking away all the oxygen from his lungs, replacing the air with every kiss of her full lips.

Dany kisses his scars and Jon thinks that all the once broken cells might be fixed from her touch. She kisses his chest and his heart reacts at once, beating faster, _hammering,_ to let her know it’s hers and hers only. She kisses his stomach, so tenderly to create butterflies all over again, like the first time he saw her. 

Jon closes his eyes when she finally reaches for his member, hard in anticipation, and instinctively tangles a hand in her silver locks as she takes him in her mouth and starts sucking, her hand following the path of her lips and his mind goes completely blank.

“Oh _gods_ above,” he pants when her tongue twirls on the shaft and makes him start a little. “You are amazing.” 

Her gaze lifts to meet his, a captivating look challenging to resist her, as if she didn’t know what a losing battle that would be already. 

She will always win him. 

Her lips press a bit harder, Dany starts going deeper, _faster_ , every stroke of her hand leaving him breathless until Jon knows he won’t last much longer. 

Unable to speak, the grip on her scalp tightens - a warning and encouraging sign that she seems to get, from the mischievous smile on her swollen lips as she looks back at him. 

But then Daenerys takes him in one more time, his eyes fixed on her, and suddenly she pulls away. He watches her mesmerized as, without warning, she quickly undresses, climbs back on his lap and sinks onto him, a content sigh escaping her lips as she does so. 

The feeling of filling her is intoxicating on another kind of level. Everything about his wife astonishes him every day. 

Jon watches her move, erratic but precise at the same time, finding the angle that pleases her the most and giving her the time to settle. 

He scans her, hypnotized by her beauty that only seems to have become more striking during pregnancy. Her hair is impossibly prettier, softer, her cheeks full and flushed, her breasts bigger but still perfect. She looks vulnerable and powerful at the same time, and to Jon, it’s the most fascinating of paradoxes. 

He teases her, touches her where she most needs him to, his eyes never leaving her face despite the waves of pleasure she sends through him with her hips, determined to see her come instead. 

He doesn’t have to wait long. She gives a thrust more, he takes a nipple in his mouth, and then they combust together, her suffocated scream filling his ear as a constellation of colors explode in his mind. 

Dany shakes above him, her silver hair creating a curtain over his face as he watches her ride him through her orgasm, before eventually collapsing onto his chest, relieved.

They stay like that for a while, then Dany shifts onto the bed to rest against his side and he hugs her immediately, settling comfortably under the covers. 

“Everything okay?” he whispers to her, his smile still stuck on his face as one hand comes to caress her belly lovingly. 

Dany nods. “Now that the nausea has stopped, yes.” She smiles and places her own hand over his. “It’s growing up, uhm, our little dragon?” 

“It really is.” He beams at her, pulling her a little closer to his side. “We should pick a name.” 

“Now?” She pouts, her head shifting on his shoulder to look him in the eye. “Isn’t it soon?” 

“Maybe, but knowing the kind of names the Targaryens have come up with until now, we shall need more than one single talk to be just as original,” says Jon with a grin. 

She growls softly, reckoning he’s right, even if she doesn’t tell him. “It doesn’t have to be a Targaryen name, though. If you don’t want it to be.” 

She adds the last sentence shyly, as if only the idea of him rejecting to give their child a Targaryen-like name means he’s up to rejecting his birth name, his origins. She’s always so scared that his acceptance of both his families, Stark and Targaryen, might only be temporary. Even without speaking her mind out loud, Jon can read the hesitance in her eyes, how tentative she gets when it comes to including him in her dynasty’s tradition. 

It’s like he could _choose_ whether to be one or another. The fact that he really can’t used to take his sleep away at night, and his siblings’ attitude towards Daenerys didn’t really ease the frustration. 

It took him a long time, but he eventually did realize there’s no need to choose. He’s the outcome of the most powerful houses of Westeros, the product of a union of _love_ and _acceptance._ There won’t be another day in which he’ll be conflicted about it. 

Jon is both a wolf and a dragon and there’s no need to pick one. 

However, his child is another thing. The miracle inside Dany’s belly must be a Targaryen; he never had a shade of doubt about it. There was a day when she thought her family had seen the end with her, yet right when her dynasty seemed doomed, Jon found out about his past, and not long after that Dany was expecting a child. _Their_ child. 

Her family hasn’t seen its end yet, because she now has a new one. 

“Our baby is a Targaryen,” he states, finally, and Dany smiles, relief visible in her eyes despite her attempt to hide it. 

“Very well,” she says softly, adjusting herself under the sheets. “What about Janherya?” 

“Oh, so it’s a girl?” 

“Or Janheris,” she corrects. 

Jon looks at her, uncertain. “Sounds like the distorted long version of my name.”

At that, Dany’s cheeks flush a little, her lips pressing together as if she had just been caught in a crime. “Then what is your option, I am curious,” she says, offended. 

“Lysenya?” he offers, trying not to laugh at her reaction. “ Lysenis for a boy.”

She seems to actually consider it, silently admitting that his name option is indeed better than hers, although Jon is positive she will never give him the satisfaction of saying it out loud. 

After a moment of meditation, she decides to rule that one out too for, to quote her, not being “enough Targaryen style,” which he reckons is a gentle way to say that she does like the name, but it’s basically not as cool as their ancestors’. He doesn’t even know half of those; the only Targaryen names he remembers he read from Sam’s book when his best friend forced him to learn about Westeros’ history, so he opts for accepting her decision quite passively. 

They lie in bed for hours, still naked and brains working to make up all sort of names, taking inspiration from books, from relatives, even from her dragons (“What about Rhaegalis?”). All of them sound pretty, none of them make them jump with excitement. 

She seems exhausted as much as he is, but as opposed to when they started the list, Daenerys is now so invested in choosing a name that she doesn’t show any sign of giving up. 

“It’s just…” She rolls on her back, her eyes fiery with determination. “I want it to be _special.”_

“I know, love,” he tells her, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “I like all the names we said, but none of them are… meaningful.” 

“And I don’t want to name the baby after one person. I want it to be original.” 

He nods, his hand coming to touch her belly again as if to beg their baby to help them. It’s not even born yet and they’re already bothering their first child with a parental crisis. 

If only his mother could see them… Even though he never knew Lyanna, Jon is sure she would know _exactly_ how to name their child, maybe with Rhaegar’s help, but– 

“Dany.”

She turns around immediately, alarmed by the gravity in his tone. 

“What?”

“I got the name.”

He whispers it in her ear, afraid that even the walls could steal their secret and his excitement with that. 

The way Dany’s eyes light up as he pulls away to watch her is priceless. 

She beams at him, her mouth opening to speak, but suddenly their attention is drawn to something else. They gasp in unison, moving their gaze simultaneously to her belly, where their tangled hands had just started almost imperceptibly at the feeling of a soft kick from inside. 

Dany lets out a laugh, a wide smile spreading across her beautiful features; the same smile he knows he’s wearing too. 

“I think the baby likes it,” he says, radiant.

Dany grins. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

* * *

Of _bloody_ course it’s premature. He doesn’t know a single Targaryen that hasn’t skipped steps in life – Gods above even Jon himself has died _before_ dying for good – and his child is definitely not an exception. 

It was supposed to be colder outside, the leaves should have started falling from the trees, and it should be dark already by dinner time. But now it’s evening and the sun hasn’t set yet; Jon has just come back from the city where the children were running barefoot in the streets, and no tree had lost a single leaf so far. 

He rushes so fast to the Red Keep that by the time he’s inside his lungs burn painfully, but Jon couldn’t care less, his attention drawn to the stairs where he can now distinguish the voices of people coming from above. 

Panting, he climbs the steps two by two, and on the top he suddenly finds Missandei in front of him, almost crushing the woman from his impetus. 

“Where is she? Is Dany ok?” he manages to ask. 

“She’s in the Maester’s room, in labor,” the advisor explains. “He’s not letting anyone inside.” 

“The fuck I will stay here,” he mutters, already on his way to the door. 

But as he takes a step forward Missandei’s hand wraps around his wrist at once, trying to stop him and forcing him to look at her at the same time. The woman’s amber eyes are full of worry, and Jon realizes it’s the very first time such sentiment has filtered through her expression. 

Which is so _not_ a good sign. 

He wants to retort, to demand she let him go, when suddenly a horrendous scream from behind the door breaks the whispering of the hall and with that, Jon’s heart. 

“Your Grace…” He hears Missandei call, but Jon’s ears are buzzing now, Daenerys’ shriek echoes in his head and he remains frozen in his place for a moment, unable to move.

It’s happening and he was so not prepared. All his fears, the _panic_ that he’s been holding back for moons now all comes to the surface, the little control he thought he had over his mind lost. 

“I need to see her,” he breathes out. Missandei’s grip tightens. 

“Your Grace,” she starts, careful. “Your presence in the room wouldn’t help the Maester deal with the complications–“

“What complications?” His grey eyes dart to meet hers immediately. “What’s wrong with her labor?”

“Well, it’s a premature child; the situation needs to be treated carefully. And in these cases usually, the mother has more contractions… It just requires more care, that’s all.” She tries to dismiss the argument, but he can still see the anxiety on her face. 

Another scream. 

Jon’s mind blacks out. He can’t lose her. They haven’t come all this way together to die, they haven’t made a miracle happen only to be demanded a sacrifice in return. 

_Please, pick them both._ He keeps repeating it to himself like a mantra. By the third time the words go on, he realizes he’s crying. 

If tears weren’t flowing on his cheeks, someone would probably think he had died petrified. 

A statue, shaken only by a sob every now and then, cold on the outside yet with a turmoil of emotions rocking inside of him - Jon closes his eyes in order to calm down. He tells himself that it’s the normal procedure – not to let family in, that labor is painful per se so screaming can’t be avoided, that two hours is an ordinary amount of time to wait. 

It doesn’t help. His heart doesn’t slow down. 

Impatient now, a growl raises from his chest and without thinking it twice he jumps forward and with a few strides, he’s at the door, ignoring Missandei’s calls behind him.

The door swings open. 

If he opened it first or the Maester, he is not aware. The middle-aged man stands in front of him, sweaty and visibly exhausted, with a muddle of towels in his arms. 

Furrowing, Jon’s eyes study the muddle and his heart almost skips a beat when he catches a glimpse of the small head peeking out of them. 

The man flashes him with a tired smile and hands him the baby, indicating how Jon should hold it in the process. 

“It’s a girl,” he says hoarsely. 

Jon feels paralyzed again, yet for a totally different reason. He watches, speechless, the round, flushed face of his daughter, her big eyes still half-closed, her little nose, her bare scalp that he’s now holding carefully with one hand. She’s so small, and _fragile,_ that he’s scared to break her. He holds her tighter, slightly closer to his chest, and silently promises to protect her with his own life. 

“We shall need to check on her a while more, I am afraid. She looks healthy, but since she barely cried while coming out, we would like to be sure that everything is fine,” the Maester informs him. 

“Dany,” Jon suddenly lets out. “How’s the Queen?”

“She has lost a lot of blood, your Grace.”

Jon’s stomach contracts.

Through the door left ajar, he glimpses the movements of some maidens, rushing across the room with bowls of water and towels. His heart stops when he catches sight of one stained in red. 

If it wasn’t for that little thing cradled in his arms, Jon would be shaking already. 

“She’s tired,” the man adds, and Jon hadn’t realized that was meant to dismiss him. The Maester instead takes the baby from his arms and goes back to the room, closing the door behind him without another word.

“Wait!” Jon's hand stops the door from slamming closed and calls the Maester. “Can I see her?” 

“Not now.”

“I need to–“

“The Queen will live, your Grace.” And to Jon’s surprise, the man smiles. Even more surprising is the crumbling heaviness inside his chest at the sight of that reassurance. “We shall call you as soon as she is awake and clean. We can check the baby in the meantime.” He places a calloused hand on his shoulder and squeezes it, apprehensive and comforting. “Don’t worry, my Lord, yours are tough ladies.” 

Then the door closes and for the first time in hours, Jon exhales. 

As promised by the Maester, he doesn’t have to wait long. He’s just been given a cup of water by Missandei when the old man comes out again and finally allows him to come in. 

Jon hurries inside so fast he almost stumbles over his own feet.

With the veil of curtains down on the window, the bedroom looks darker than before, but even in the dim light he can see her shining silver hair falling on her side as she looks down at something her arms are holding. She keeps rocking their daughter softly, sitting on the mattress, from which all the dirty towels and operating tools have been removed. 

It’s only when he steps forward in the middle of the room that she turns around and looks at him. And time stops.

She looks at him with huge eyes full of happiness, her smile widening at the sight of him, and he realizes it’s probably because he’s crying from joy as well. 

“Come here?” she says, patting a spot on the bed.

Jon crosses the room and comes to sit next to her. He looks over his shoulder and watches the two maidens and the Maester leaving the room, throwing them a grateful look in the process as they close the door. 

When they’re finally alone, Jon lets out a sigh of relief that seems to contain all the angst of the past few days, and breathless, he cups Dany’s cheeks in his hands and leans in to kiss her with such urgency that it leaves them both panting. 

The corners of her lips turn upright against his, the smile remaining stuck on her face even when he pulls away to check on the baby girl in her mother’s arms. 

As if she can feel herself being observed, his daughter’s eyes flutter open and stare at him with two big violet irises. 

“She…” He looks around to find the right words, but he can’t stop smiling. There are not enough words to describe the sense of blissful joy he feels. 

“She’s perfect,” Dany finishes his sentence, her thumb brushing the baby’s cheek. 

“How are you?” Jon asks after a while, moving a damp lock from Dany’s face and tucking it behind her ear. 

“Tired,” Dany admits. Despite the excitement and happiness, now that he’s so close, Jon notices the signs of weariness on her face. The struggle makes her look like she hasn’t slept in days.

“I was so worried about losing you,” he confesses in a small voice. 

“I know.” She smiles, one hand coming to his cheek, dragging his gaze to meet hers. “But we’re still here, aren’t we?”

“Aye.” He smiles back and kisses the crown of her hair. Then he focuses back on the baby, watching her parents silently, her eyes now wide and awake. “This little one here has just been born and already thinks she can call the law.”

Dany grins. “That might slightly be our fault, though.” 

“Right. But still,” he looks at his daughter, who’s now beaming at him adorably, and Jon knows all his attempts to hold his own smile back are vain. “You’re grounded for making Daddy worry.” 

“You are grounding our daughter literally one hour after being born?” Dany chuckles. “Don’t blame _me_ when she will have a preference then.”

“What!?” 

She burst into laughter and to both their surprise, their baby joins her too with a small laugh. 

“See,” Dany says, still chuckling. “Rhaenna agrees.” 

“Oh girl,” Jon feigns a scolding face, still laughing with them. “You are going to be in so much trouble when you grow up.” 

He takes Rhaenna in his arms and keeps her closer to his chest, letting her be lulled by his pounding heart for a while, before joining Daenerys in bed and laying their daughter down between them. 

He kisses his wife one more time, now lingering a bit longer with one hand tangled in her hair, as he tries to put all his gratitude into one kiss, all the promises and reassurances to do his best to keep them safe. 

_I told you._ He thinks as he separates from her lips and stares at her deeply. 

_You have a family now._

**Author's Note:**

> You find me on tumblr as ronsweasley; come and talk to me! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, please leave a comment if you enjoyed it <3


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